The Goblin King (20 page)

He placed her hands on the floor. “I’ve lived ancient history. Celebrated two new millennia.” He ran his hand down her spine, learning each bump of bone. “I’m old, Eliza. I’m weary.” He took off his camo and knelt behind her.

She turned and looked over her shoulder with a cheeky glint in her eye. “Is the age gap too much?”

Roan slid two fingers into her wet core. She moved in time with his hand, so he gave her more. His cock ached for similar treatment.

“I wish that were our only problem.”

He shifted and pressed his cock into her slick heat. Eliza moaned and dropped onto her elbows. He held her hips in an attempt to slow her down, but eventually he gave in to her need. He thrust deeper and faster. Each time she met and raised the challenge, igniting a fire that would never be smothered. She cried out, and her muscles contracted, milking him. He brought one hand to her swollen bud and circled. She shuddered and groaned, rubbing against his hand. With Eliza held tight against his hips, he came, still thrusting within her. Roan closed his eyes and breathed, trying to hold on to the moment when he almost felt fully human. That second was better than finding the lost city of the Incas and stripping it of gold.

A new sensation climbed into his body. Warm and gentle. The slow swell of satisfaction. Peace. Happiness. All lust and need fulfilled. For the first time he could remember he’d enjoyed something without paying a price.

He ran his hand over her damp skin, and she jumped at his touch. He opened his eyes to drink her in. A gold handprint lay across one buttock. His handprint.

He eased back, reluctant to leave her body. He wanted more of Eliza, but not in the all-consuming way he wanted more gold. She sighed at the loss and sat up on her heels. Taking his offered hand, she stood. He handed Eliza her clothing and they dressed silently.

The silence didn’t prickle or try to provoke words. It wrapped around them like a blanket of protection. Roan summoned the rest of his clothes. He couldn’t go anywhere without weapons. One day he’d walk out of his front door and find the Hoard waiting to kill him. His sword belt snaked through the loops and buckled as if it lived. But all the armor and weapons in the world wouldn’t protect him from Eliza. She placed her arms around his neck and kissed him. He responded, hoping to extend his fragile happiness a little longer. One doubt gnawed at the carcass of his conscience, spoiling the joy he’d found.

“Why did you call me, Eliza?” Roan pulled her away and held her at arm’s length.

“You helped me twice. I wanted to return the favor.”

“You wanted to escape your fiancé.” He couldn’t blame her for that when he agreed. The man was worth a fraction of the value he placed on himself. But he needed to hear her say the words, if only to reassure himself that he wasn’t just the best out of a couple of bad choices. What woman chose nightmares over dreams? Monsters over men?

She bit her lip and nodded. “That wasn’t why I called.” She looked away to study the coins on the floor. “I thought I could break the curse. That everything would work out and we could be together.”

“That was a gamble you lost.”
We both lost.
A bitter smile almost turned his mouth. They were both fools with too much hope.

She lifted her chin, hazel eyes burning. “I’d do it again. I have nothing to lose.”

Roan placed his hand over her heart. The rhythm called like an ancient drumbeat he’d never dance to again. “You have everything to lose. Don’t trust a goblin with your life.”

Eliza covered his hand with hers. “I see a man who I trust with my heart.”

He wished that were true, but he would end up breaking her heart.

Chapter 11

Steven flicked shards of glass off his jacket. It crunched under his shoes as he walked away from the broken window. If Eliza hadn’t called the police, he wouldn’t have had to break into his home. Since she’d paid to change the locks, she could pay to replace the glass. The alarm screeched at his presence. He punched in the code. She hadn’t changed it yet…she hadn’t changed it ever. It was the same code her father had used. She insisted the alarm be set every night. The upper floor was left off so the occupants could move around. Then he called the security company to assure them everything was fine.

“Honey, I’m home.” His voice fell on a dark and silent house. Her twenty-four hours was up, the police order had expired, and he’d been generous. He’d let her start a second night alone.

He turned on lights as he walked through the house. It had taken him less than a minute to replace the missing light fuse. Eliza wouldn’t spend a night without power; she was like a child, terrified of the dark. But he’d watched, and he hadn’t seen her leave the house. Steven stomped up the stairs. The guest room door was closed. He knocked.

No answer.

She wasn’t here. He clenched his teeth. Anger welled and slipped past. He swore and thumped the door. He’d been expecting her to grovel, to apologize and beg forgiveness for stepping out of line and risking everything he’d worked for. With a flick he opened his cell phone and rung her. Maybe she’d sneaked out to the bitch sister-in-law’s. Her phone responded from the other side of the door, breaking up the rage.

A trickle of cold sweat tracked down his back. With a sick sense of déjà vu he hung up. She’d gone AWOL again. With the calm of a dead man he opened the guest room door. He tried the light. Nothing happened. He turned on the en suite light. It was enough to see what was wrong. That her disappearance was too similar to last time.

Empty room. Unmade bed. Clothes on the chair. Her handbag rested on the bedside table. Her cell phone lay on the floor. Steven bent to pick it up and stopped. Next to the phone was her engagement ring. A two-carat white diamond ring left on the floor for the cleaner to vacuum up. This behavior was becoming a worrying pattern. An escalating pattern. He slipped the ring into his pocket.

It was too close to the wedding for her to fall apart. Eliza obviously had an undiagnosed mental condition. Why else would she walk the streets, yet have no memory? If she was lying, she was doing a damn good job. But then her mother was an actress. If he needed to medicate Eliza to get through the wedding, so be it. But there would be a wedding.

This time he couldn’t call the police. He was sure someone had watched him leave the hotel this morning. Tailing his car until he’d lost them by looping through the city and going extra slow. It had almost made him think twice about coming back here even though he was now legally allowed back in his own house. Steven sat down and ran his hand over his hair without ruffling a stand. He would wait for her to come back. She had to come back. There was nowhere else she could go.

He stretched his legs and dozed in the chair in the guest room. When daylight struggled in through the window, he went downstairs for coffee. He pulled the milk out of the fridge. The stench lodged in his nostrils. He checked the date, still good for another week, yet it stunk like it had been left in the car on a summer day. He dropped it in the bin and drank his coffee black. Again.

He sat alone at the dining table, his coffee half drunk, his fingers drumming on the wood. At nine he called the office and told them he was working from home. He called a glazier and while the man replaced the glass, Steven toyed with the diamond ring in his pocket. He wanted her back. Before her father’s death he’d asked permission to marry Eliza. Then everything had turned. His career had taken off, along with his personal investments made with other people’s money, while Eliza had dropped out of university. She became dependant on him, and he on her. Without her name and backing he would sink back into obscurity. The kid with no lunch and the alcoholic mother. He was going to be someone and Eliza was part of his plan. Plenty of marriages were built on less.

Once the glazier left Steven lay on the sofa, one arm draped over his eyes. He couldn’t afford for his plans to unravel now. Telling Eliza about the fraud may have been a mistake. He’d thought she’d be impressed at how clever he was. She hadn’t been. He was man enough to admit it, lawyer enough to never say it. Losing the house and money would be an inconvenience but not insurmountable.

His cell phone rang. “Steven Slade.”

An overly pert female voice rattled a greeting at one hundred miles an hour. “Anyway, just to let you know that your accountant has finished auditing Chiverney Holdings, and it’s all okay.”

The muscle below Steven’s eye twitched. He sat up. “I gave strict instructions not to call me regarding that job. That I would stop by the office next week.”

“How odd, the regular receptionist left no instructions. Oh well. Looks like I saved you a trip. Have a nice day.”

“Listen, you little chit—” The line hummed at him. “Bollocks.” He threw his phone. It bounced into the opposing sofa.

“Fuck.” Steven scrubbed his hands over his face. Had the temp receptionist called the office first?

What had started as game, skim a few dollars here, a few thousand there, had become a source of independent wealth that couldn’t be explained. Access to the trust fund covered some of his tracks. People assumed it was trust money he was spending. But he was buying his way into society without Eliza.

“Take a breath. No one gives a damn about Chiverney. No one knows about the company.” It was safe. He was safe. Only Eliza knew what he was doing, and she didn’t know the company name—he hadn’t told her everything. However, she was becoming less pliant. Steven pressed his fingers together.

It was time to change strategies.

***

Exclusive. A location to die for. The only five-star restaurant in the Shadowlands. The white cloth on the table was set with gold. In a crystal vase were two silver roses so lifelike Eliza wanted to pick them up and see if they also had a scent. She smiled at Roan. He shrugged one shoulder and sat.

In the center of the table there were enough plates to feed six men a three-course meal. Each plate presented the food as if it were a masterpiece. Sauces painted into a pattern, vegetable curls, and delicate piles of succulent seafood.

“Eat before it grows cold. Be a shame for the magic to go to waste.” Dai gave his brother a sharp look. He had kept away for most of the day, said nothing about the damage done to the caves or that they were still goblins, not men.

A whisper brushed over her skin. Words she didn’t quite catch. She brushed it off. “Did you make the food?”

“No. But someone’s order is missing and their meal will be late, probably on the house if they whine enough. These things happen.” Roan indicated for her to pick a plate to start.

“You stole the food?”

“Have you seen anything to hunt here?” Dai said as he studied the meal as if he couldn’t decide what to choose.

“I guess not.” Eliza took a plate of scallops wrapped in prosciutto. They melted in her mouth. “What did you eat at the start?”

“There is plenty to hunt if you know where to look. Wild animals have always lived in people’s fears. Some nightmares never change. New ones arrive, old ones persist.” Roan stretched his legs.

Their feet collided. He smiled, his lips curving easily instead of being strained. Then his smile became crooked and one brow lifted with suggestion. Heat uncurled from her stomach and spread through her limbs. Roan locked his ankles with hers, trapping her feet.

Dai made a comment as he selected a couple of plates and picked up cutlery so he could eat elsewhere. She didn’t need to speak the language to understand the meaning.
Get a room.
Warmth colored her face.

Roan responded and the brothers argued across different languages. She was glad she couldn’t understand; she was sure the conversation had slid under the tablecloth.

The stray thought tugged more firmly. The words still unclear. Eliza tilted her head to listen more closely. She put down her fork. If Roan and Dai would just be quiet for a moment, she would be able to hear the words. They were almost audible. She pulled her feet free and tucked them under her chair.

“Shh.”

Roan and Dai stopped talking, and watched her as if she’d turned goblin.

“Can you hear that?” She stood and turned, trying to locate the source. A soft voice called to her, no more pain, no more heartache, no more broken promises. “Why can’t you hear it?”

Roan pushed his chair back, all humor gone from his face. “What do you hear?”

“I don’t know.” As she looked at him the voice became quiet but it waited. She closed her eyes. This time the voice returned inside her mind. It was part of her. “Talking.”

She held her breath to listen better, to hear what the voice was saying and find out why it was calling her. Magic coiled around her limbs and tugged on her flesh. The voice lulled and soothed. She relaxed, believing the voice wouldn’t hurt her.

A hand closed around her wrist. “Eliza, can you hear me?”

Her eyes snapped open. The voice was gone, leaving her with an ache as if she’d lost someone of great importance, but she didn’t know whom. Like she’d lost part of herself but wasn’t sure who she’d been to begin with.

She blinked. “Yes.”

Roan was staring at her, his blue eyes clouded with concern. “Do you still hear Elryion?”

Elryion, the druid. The sweet, seductive call had been a summons. An unfightable whirlpool that spun until it was fed. If Roan hadn’t held onto her, she would’ve been unable to resist. She shivered like a bucket of ice had been thrown over her soul. She’d almost been called to the druid—the one responsible for Roan’s curse. She had no doubt he would’ve used her against Roan.